


Compliments for the road

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Khazâd November, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12725019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Bofur meets a strange dwarf in an inn on the road and figures he might be pleasant company for the evening. He wasn't expecting to meet him again.





	Compliments for the road

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 14 of [Khazâd November](https://a-grump-of-dwarves.tumblr.com/post/166304116735/khaz%C3%A2d-november-2017), the additional prompt was "travel".  
> 

They had both been travellers, stopping in an inn in the middle of nowhere for a night’s rest without having to worry about orcs, bandits or wolves. 

Amongst all the men, there were four tables with dwarves, one group with grim faces under their heavy beards, the second so drunk that Bofur knew he would never be able to catch up and the third waving over to him too eagerly for his taste. Bofur chose the lone dwarf at the fourth table, a red-haired fellow just short of middle age, faint wrinkles beside his eyes betraying a penchant for laughter his watchful face wouldn’t have suggested otherwise. 

Bofur grabbed his bowl of stew which at least promised to be warm -if boiled slightly too long- and headed over to the stranger’s table through thick wisps of pipe smoke. 

“Would you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, unless you intend to cast the runes over my well-deserved ale and prophesize my doom,” the other dwarf said with a thick accent that pointed to a Firebeard ancestry even more than the bright red beard already did. 

“Is that what they are up to?” Bofur asked and nodded towards the group of dwarves that had tried to wave him over to their table and were disappointedly settling down again.

The Firebeard nodded. “Told me how all evil in history from Azaghâl’s death down to Durin’s bane and old Smaug could have been prevented if only dwarves had been more willing to listen to the runes and the doom they prophesized.”

“Don’t worry,” Bofur said, setting down his bowl and sitting down on the rough wooden chair across from the other dwarf, “I’m not too keen on doom myself.”

“Always a healthy choice,” the other remarked with a grin. 

“I seem to be good at making choices this evening,” Bofur replied. “I think I chose rather more pleasant company than the one that might have appeared most friendly at first glance.”

“Are you sure you aren’t judging that too soon? You’ve only just sat down.”

Bofur liked the twinkle in his eye. “Why? Are you planning to rob me, incapacitate me and throw me into a ditch?”

The other dwarf’s laughter shook the table. “Not really, no. But if you continue giving me ideas...”

“Will you spare me if I tell you who you could rob some nice rune stones from instead?” Bofur asked with a grin.

“Perhaps. We’ll see if you are good company and then I’ll decide. You’re not doing too badly up till now, for what it’s worth.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, probably the first I’ve gotten since I left the Blue Mountains,” Bofur said.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Bofur could see him watching his reaction. Bofur met his eyes straight on. This wasn’t how he was expecting this evening to go, but from what he had seen so far of the dwarf he was sharing the table with, he was far from opposed. 

“Well, the elves were too busy complimenting themselves, the orcs think compliments are something you sprinkle on meat and men wouldn’t know true beauty when they see it.”

There was that deep rumbling laugh again. Bofur decided he rather liked it and the slight shiver it sent down his spine. “That would explain it. I’ll do my best to make up for that lack of compliments then. But I usually don’t start complimenting looks before I’m further into my ale, so you’ll have to help me out here and tell me a bit about yourself.”

It was Bofur’s turn to laugh. “Subtle, very subtle.”

“Yes, they all say I am. Are you a tradesman then? You seem to have the shrewd mind of one.”

Bofur nodded. “Yes, I’m a toymaker and hoping to open up some new markets. What about you? Are you in trade as well?”

“Yes, but I trade in minerals, not toys.”

“That’s just as well,” Bofur replied. “I won’t have to worry about giving away any trade secrets to a shrewd Firebeard. Assuming you are a Firebeard, of course?”

The other dwarf looked as though the question amused him. “Yes, on my mother’s side. But yes, there’s no need to worry about me being a rival in trade.”

“That’ good to know. I have the feeling you’re someone who is better to have as a friend than as a rival.”

This time, Bofur wasn’t rewarded with the laugh he was becoming rather attracted to, but with a grin instead. Which wasn’t terribly disappointing either. Bofur quickly swallowed another spoonful of stew against his throat going dry.

“So I’ve been told. Though I think we might have figured out a way to avoid becoming bitter rivals in that case anyway.”

The conversation flowed easily between them as Bofur ate his stew, the other dwarf making good on his word to compliment Bofur at every possible and impossible opportunity. Bofur in turn managed to elicit that wonderful laugh from his companion quite a few times more. 

Bofur finished his stew at the same time as the Firebeard drained the last of the ale from his mug. They looked at each other for a moment before Bofur broke the silence.

“I saw a pair of silver candleholders in my room earlier that I might want to buy off the innkeeper. I think you’re more of an expert on these things than I am. Would you mind taking a look at them?”

It was the flimsiest excuse to ask someone back to one’s room, part of an old joke in fact. The other dwarf didn’t seem like the type to hold with complicated traditions or bother with social rules and Bofur didn’t particularly feel like spending what little time they had making up excuses when they hadn’t even bothered to ask each other’s names. 

Like Bofur had hoped, the other dwarf gave his deep, rumbling laugh that sent Bofur’s blood rushing towards the deep mines. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to pay gold for cheap tin.”

Bofur got up to lead the way. He was surprised to hear a series of metallic clinks when his companion got up and came out from behind the table. He glanced back and noticed the other’s leg. Suddenly, Bofur no longer needed an introduction, he had heard the story often enough, after all. 

Dáin Ironfoot had noticed him looking and Bofur could see he was waiting for his reaction. 

Bofur grinned at him and stretched out a hand, after all, he was now at an advantage in knowing the other’s name and that wouldn’t do. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Bofur, by the way. Are you coming? Those candleholders won’t wait forever, after all.”

Dáin laughed and followed him. 

 

Dáin paused slightly at the door to Bofur’s small room. 

“Come in. Unless you are actually looking for those silver candleholders. I’m afraid the room may be slightly lacking in that regard. I’m sorry if that comes as a disappointment.”

“I don’t think any of this will come as a disappointment to me,” Dáin said, his voice low and rough.

“Good. The bed ought to be just wide enough for two.”

Dáin didn’t need to be asked twice. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Bofur and pulled him close. Bofur sank into the warm embrace thankfully, pressing against Dáin in just the right way to make him groan against Bofur’s collarbone as they tipped onto the bed.

 

Bofur was sad to find the space next to him in bed empty the next morning. His disappointment lifted a bit when he saw breakfast standing next to his bed with a note.

_“I’m sorry, but I have to leave early. I forgot to tell you yesterday and didn’t want to wake you. Safe journeys and may gold find you.  
With compliments, D.”_

 

Bofur had expected it to be a one-off thing, after all, you don’t meet the Lord of the Iron Hills on the road every day, let alone get to bed him. 

So he was rather surprised when he walked into a different inn several months later and was met with the sight of Dáin Ironfoot taking a chug out of a pint of ale. This time, Dáin was part of a larger group but he glanced over at the door as he set down his pint and smiled when he spotted Bofur. 

Bofur took his small bag of luggage to the room he was given by the innkeeper, ordered some dinner and sat down at a table of his own, not wanting to impose his company on Dáin and the dwarves he was travelling with. 

He was halfway through his lamb chops when Dáin came over to his table.

“May I join you?”

“Only if you forgot your rune stones this time,” Bofur said and gestured at the other chair.

Dáin laughed and the sound sent the familiar tingle into Bofur’s stomach. 

“It’s your lucky day,” Dáin asked as he sat down. “I just got robbed by a goblin who collects rune stones and the handful of stones I managed to save from him got eaten by a pike when I fell into a river during my escape. So no rune stones today.”

“That’s a relief. I trust you are well?”

“Very much so.”

Dáin was looking at Bofur’s mouth as he ate, Bofur noticed. 

“Like what you’re seeing?” Bofur asked, licking his lips slowly.

He wouldn’t have taken Dáin to be the type to blush, but the pink tinge that spread across Dáin’s cheeks was very pretty indeed. 

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve mentioned before that you have quite a lovely mouth.”

Bofur grinned. “Good, I think you have a few compliments to catch up with, it’s been a while. So it’s only fitting that you are already getting started.”

“It’s just that I don’t even know where to start,” Dáin replied and Bofur knew from the look he was giving him that he was only partly saying it in jest.

They talked for a while, the appraising looks even more numerous than the compliments.

“Does your room have any silver candleholders you’d like me to inspect later?”Dáin finally asked. 

Bofur pretended to consider. “Hm, I’m afraid the innkeeper was a bit cheap on the decorations in my room. But I think there might be something else you’ll want to take a look at.”

Dáin grinned. “I’d very much like to, but I probably ought to return to my travelling companions for a bit first.”

“Of course. Just follow me a while after I leave, I have the second room to the right on the ground floor. I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

To Bofur’s pleasant surprise, that was not the last time they met on the road. Every few months or years, they would meet by chance and enjoy a meal and a night together. They never made plans or talked about a next meeting, but it would have been a lie to say that when given the chance, Bofur never chose to travel east where he was more likely to meet Dáin. 

 

Bofur was more tired than he had ever been before. The battle and the subsequent search for survivors was enough to drive even the most hardy of dwarves to exhaustion. He knew Bombur and Bifur lived while Thorin and the young princes had fallen. He had seen a few other members of the company, but other than that, he did not know who lived and who had died. 

Bofur waded through the mud, icy cold and thick with orc blood. He had been helping injured dwarves from Dáin’s army back to the mountain for hours and marking the dead by getting their weapons to stand in the mud and tying a piece of cloth to it so that they could find them more easily tomorrow. He had seen no sign of Dáin, not since he had charged into battle. 

Bofur pulled a dead orc off a pile of bodies to see if there was anyone lying beneath it. He tried not to see its face or smell the stench that was already coming from it. Thankfully, there were only more dead orcs beneath it, piled against a large boulder.

Bofur made his way around the boulder. There, inspecting another heap of bodies, was Dáin, his armour dark with orc blood and his helmet discarded, his fiery red hair in disarray.  
Bofur stumbled towards him. He accidentally kicked a shield in his hurry, causing it to clank against a piece of armour.

Dáin looked up at the noise. His mouth dropped open in disbelief and shock.

“Bofur!”

“Dáin.”

They fell into each other’s arms. 

“Are you alright?” Daín breathed.

Bofur nodded against Dáin’s shoulder. “Yes. You too?”

“I am. What are you doing here? I know you’re not in my army...”

“No, I came here with Thorin, in his company.”

“I thought you weren’t too keen on doom,” Dáin whispered into Bofur’s ear, pressing him closer. “And then you join such a quest...”

“Trust me, I’m not. It somehow just found me this time.” Bofur swallowed.

“I’m just glad the worst of it could be staved off, from you at least if not from my poor cousins.”

“I’m glad I found you. I was worried about you,” Bofur said.

“I didn’t even know you were here. If I think about all that could have happened...”

Dáin swayed slightly and Bofur steadied him. 

“There’s no use in searching on in that direction,” Bofur said, gesturing in the direction from which he had come. “I think I’ve covered it.”

“Good. I checked everything in that direction,” Daín replied. 

“I think we have done all we can for today,” Bofur said. “We should probably go back to the mountain and get some rest.”

Dáin hesitated. “I don’t know. There might still be somebody we can help.”

“It will be dark by the time we are back at the gate. We can ask Balin if there is any area that hasn’t been searched at all yet. If there is, we’ll need some torches to keep searching, if not, there is little chance we’ll find somebody who hasn’t been found yet.” Balin had been injured on his foot and couldn’t help searching, so he was coordinating the search as best he could once Óin had treated his foot. 

Dáin nodded slowly.

They made their way back to the gate, calling and listening for any replies survivors might be calling out. They heard nothing except the distant sounds of others searching and returning to the mountain. They steadied each other as they walked, since exhaustion was taking its toll and Dáin’s leg didn’t make navigating the slippery ground any easier.

Bofur wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was rather thankful that Balin said there was no area that hadn’t at least been cursorily searched and that it really wouldn’t make much sense to go out to search at night. He added their names to a list and wished them a good night.

Beside him at the gate stood a small group of Dáin’s soldiers handing every dwarf returning to the mountain a ration of cram, dried meat and hot broth as well as a blanket. They took their rations thankfully and headed towards one of the areas of the mountain where the dragon hadn’t caused quite as much destruction. 

In what might once have been a storage room or a small shop and smelled like smoke like everything in the mountain did, they peeled off their remaining armour and ate their meal in silence. They were so tired that chewing was starting to become an effort and as they had swallowed the last bit of bread, they crawled under their blankets in a corner of the room. They clung to each other in the dark, exhausted to the point where falling asleep had become difficult. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Dáin said softly.

“Me too,” Bofur replied, pressing a soft kiss onto Dáin’s neck. 

 

The next morning, they were pulled into the daunting task of bringing the dead back to the mountain and preparing them for their funerals. The dead of men and elves had to be returned to their people and a great pyre for the dead orcs and wargs was prepared. 

Dáin began talks with Bard, Thranduil and other representatives of their kingdoms to agree on a treaty and find a way to cooperate. 

Between these tasks and making the mountain at least a bit more fit for habitation again before rebuilding began in earnest, Bofur and Dáin saw little of each other, leave alone when no others were about. Bofur had rejoined his brother and cousin the following night and Dáin had moved into a habitation a little more fit for a future king. They smiled at each other when they saw one other and exchanged a few words, but the situation did not leave room for more. 

 

A few days before Dáin was to be officially crowned, Bofur was returning late from clearing away rubble when he saw a dwarf with a familiar gait in the hall in front of him.

“Dáin!” He called out. 

Dáin looked back and when he recognised Bofur, he turned around and headed towards him. 

“Bofur. How are you?”

“Dusty,” Bofur said drily. He patted his clothes with one hand and they both laughed when a cloud of dust rose.

“Looks like you are doing some real work then,” Dáin said. “I envy you.”

“Too much ceremonial fuss?” 

“Yes, quite too much for my taste,” Dáin replied, rolling his eyes. “And it involves casting rune stones.”

Bofur laughed. “Oh no! So they did get you in the end!”

Dáin snorted. “I’m afraid so. But it’s not like I intend to base all my decisions on those. I know ceremonies like that and pomp at the coronation are a necessity that comes with the job and that they deepen the respect many dwarves have for the position, but I didn’t enjoy them when I was lord and I doubt I will enjoy them now. Especially since there is so much real work to be done where every pair of hands would be useful.”

“It’s just a few more days until the celebrations and then you’ll be able to join in with the more practical things again, at least when you don’t have any negotiations,” Bofur tried to console him. “How are those coming along, by the way?”

“Well enough, now that we’ve established some trust and laid down a few foundations. Bard especially is keen to establish close ties between our kingdoms, like it was back in the day. He’s a practical thinker, if a bit glum sometimes.”

“That sounds like you’ll get along well then,” Bofur said. “That’s a good sign. Unless of course you start complimenting him...”

Bofur had been wondering where they stood now that they would actually have the opportunity to see each other more often. He knew what they had was mostly just built on mutual attraction and enjoyment of the moment, but by now, it would probably hurt if Dáin decided it couldn’t continue for whatever reason.

Dáin laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s not my type at all.” He rubbed his neck and Bofur swallowed at this sign of nervousness.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dáin continued, shifting his feet. “What we had was something for on the road, when we were away from home and looking for company. The thing is, I’ve always enjoyed your company and I don’t just mean in bed. I know I haven’t been giving that impression lately with all the things that have been going on, but I’d like to spend more time with you now that we have the chance, if that would be alright with you. Perhaps even make things official somewhere along the line, if that turns out to be what we want.”

Bofur felt his face split into a grin. “Of course that would be alright with me. More than alright, in fact.”

Dáin grinned back at him. “Oh, good.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, until Bofur suddenly wondered why they weren’t kissing and decided to amend that right away. He pulled Dáin into his arms and for a long moment, his world only consisted of the feeling of Dáin’s mouth against his.

“You’re not expecting me to call you ‘Your Majesty’ then, are you?” Bofur whispered, slightly out of breath. “I only use honorifics in bed.”

“Cheeky,” Dáin retorted, pulling Bofur flush against him. “There’s only one place to go then, isn’t there?”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m currently taking Christmas/Yuletide/winter requests/prompts over on Dreamwidth! If you’re interested, read more here: <https://octopus-fool.dreamwidth.org/2017/12/03/>


End file.
